


baseball players

by iwastetimechasingcars



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, hnnnng i wanted to make something fun, i hope this wrked???, wow i really did this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 16:45:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17145386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwastetimechasingcars/pseuds/iwastetimechasingcars
Summary: Marco Bodt, who happens to be on seemingly every sports team in school, also happens to be on the baseball team.Jean finds he comes to like baseball players.





	baseball players

**Author's Note:**

  * For [would_not_touch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/would_not_touch/gifts).



> Hi there! I was your secret santa for the gift exchange! I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Full confession i love baseball players and the idea of marco just being amazingly talented at everything.   
> i may have projected a bit.

It was Sasha’s idea for Jean to try out for the baseball team in their sophomore year in high school.

Her reasoning was, as follows; “Baseball is one of the lesser high school sports. The amount of attention it gets from the mainstream student body offers you the opportunity to fail miserably and stay off the social radar,” at this point Jean would open his mouth to argue, but Sasha wouldn’t give him the opportunity to, “ _or_ you’ll do great and actually get invited to a party for once.”

Jean remembers the day at lunch that Sasha said that to him. He, Connie, and Sasha had all gotten pizza from the cafeteria and were sitting under the bleachers like they always did. Connie lay on his stomach in between the two, playing a game on his handheld. Sasha was pointing a fry at Jean, using it as if it would extend the point she was trying to make.

Jean opened his mouth to speak again before Connie cut him off.

“She’s got a point, Jean.” He said, “Did you _even_ do anything your freshman year?”  
“Of course he didn’t,” Sasha answered for Jean, “If Jean _ever_ got invited to a party, he’d have asked us to go with him.”

“No, I wouldn’t!” Jean raised his voice but grew red in the face, because he knew that was absolute bullshit, “I didn’t get invited to parties because I didn’t talk to anyone.” He argued.

They were right though—he hadn’t gotten invited to a single party. He hadn’t gone to a single dance, nor did he actually go on a successful date. To be honest, he didn’t really remember his freshman year in high school. Each day and class blurred together into one, insignificant smudge.

So, really, all it took for Jean to try out for the baseball team was the suggestion and the reminder that Jean was probably the lamest person he knew.

 

* * *

 

_Baseball players have nice asses,_ Jean found himself musing at the first day of try-outs. He was able to differentiate the baseball team from the rest of the guys that were trying out based on the fact that the baseball team had gloves on their hands, tossing baseballs back and forth with a partner. The new members were awkwardly standing around, waiting for instruction.

Jean’s second thought in association with the baseball team was, _Marco Bodt is probably on every single sports team in this school._

Marco Bodt—the tall, dark, and handsome jock—was _also_ on the baseball team?

Okay, listen—if you asked Jean how freshman year was for him, he’d say “Meh,” and probably repeat something about everything blurring together.

The thing about going to a school with Marco Bodt, though, is that if everything around you blurs, Marco is a hard line.

He was the _super star_ of the school, and every single pep rally since Marco joined football team in his freshman year made sure everyone knew. Marco Bodt, who used to be _lanky_ and _skinny_ , joined football and after one summer of practices, started high school making absolute waves. He jumped from football practices, to volleyball practices. He went from class straight to soccer practice, and then juggled his time with basketball practice. He had been granted special permission to go on the cross-country competitions, but with his already busy and active schedule, he wasn’t required at practice. All this, and he maintained top marks in his classes. Not a single person could utter a bad word about Marco.

Jean had never met Marco, though. But he’d heard about the boy the school bends over backwards for. He’d seen his picture hung up on what felt like every hallway and found himself (more than once), fawning over a photo of Marco in some uniform.

Marco Bodt was the golden boy. And he was also on the baseball team.

Jean felt his eyes wander down Marco’s body to his backside. _Yup,_ Jean nodded, _Baseball players have nice asses._

* * *

 

Their first home game was on a Friday.

Jean was at the locker rooms more than twenty minutes before anyone else on the team had gotten there.

There was an unfamiliar knot of nervousness in his stomach that had Jean clenching his stomach on the bench in front of the locker.

Sasha and Connie had promised him over and over, that they’d be there to support him at his first game, right in the front row. They’d cheer him, and afterwards they’d go to Denny’s together and each get a stack of flapjacks.

But Jean did not want flapjacks. He wanted to throw up.

His phone next to him vibrated on the bench, showing a message from Connie that Jean wouldn’t read until after the game.

Instead, he reached for the water bottle in his open locker, hoping he could, quite literally, drown his unease.

He finished the bottle off, crushing it in his hands, not knowing how else to ward off his nervousness.

He certainly did not feel any better.

He dropped the bottle, sprinting as quick as he could to the bathrooms an aisle over, before opening his mouth, and throwing up all the water he had chugged like a garden hose in the sink.

He coughed pathetically before spitting out the bile left in his mouth and letting the water run over it. He splashes his face with water, hoping that’ll help clear his mind, and when he opens them and looks in the mirror, he sees the tall figure of Marco Bodt, an arm out to reach for Jean.

Jean spins around, cursing as the small of his back hits the edge of the sink, wary of Marco’s outstretched hand.

“Are you okay, Jean?” Marco asks. He lets his hand drop, receding his hand into the pocket of his varsity letterman jacket. He always wore that varsity letterman. He had a baseball cap on his head and headphones around his neck. “I have some Pepto in coach’s office if you need some?”

Marco Bodt, the school superstar, was offering Jean Kirschtein Pepto Bismol.

At Jean’s silence Marco took a step closer. “Are you feeling okay?” Marco glanced at the sink behind Jean pointedly.

Jean nodded slowly, not quite trusting his mouth yet. Marco Bodt knew his name.

“Did you want some medicine?”

No, Jean did not want medicine.

“You know my name.”

_That’s not how you say no!_ Jean mentally kicked his backside.

Marco looks at him, confusion clearly written across his face. “Well, yeah,” he says slowly, “we’re on the same team.”

Jean’s eyes looked at the beautiful man in front of him and thought, _I sure hope you play for my team._

Another awkward silence fell between them and Jean straightened up.

“Sorry,” Jean says, “I’m just nervous about the game.”

Marco’s face broke out into a brilliant smile and if Jean had not been clutching the sink behind him, he’s sure he’d have fallen from swooning over him.

“Let’s go do some stretches together,” Marco says, “I can help you out with that.”

 

* * *

 

Marco sat on the grassy field behind the locker room, basking in the sun.

Jean’s first thought was _this is not how stretching goes._

“This is your first game right, Jean?” Marco asks, “I don’t remember you playing sports.”

Jean nodded, dropping down next to Marco. “I joined because my friend suggested it.” He admitted. “I don’t have many friends.”

Marco laid back on the grass, knotting his hands behind his head. “Extracurriculars are good for making friends.”

“Except I’ve been on the team for a month already and you’re the only one who remembers my name that isn’t Coach.” Jean said.

Marco sat up on his elbows, nodding thoughtfully. “They don’t remember your name because they recognize you by how well you pitch.” He turns his head to look at Jean. “You _do_ know that Coach has been training you to be our starting pitcher, right?”

Jean looks surprised at Marco, “He has?” Marco nods at him. “But you’re our starting pitcher.”

Marco lets a laugh belt out. “I’m only starting pitcher because I’m the biggest guy on the team. I mean, sure, I have a lot of practice to make sure I’m good at it, but for the most part, me being starting pitcher is a scare tactic that Coach is willing to expose.”

Jean thought about it. It’s true, Marco was the bulkiest of the players on the whole team, standing tall and leading the practices like you’d expect Marco Bodt to do.

“But once you showed up to try-outs,” Marco laughed again, “Coach pulled me aside and pointed you out.”

“I’m not a scary guy like you are.” Right next to him though, Marco didn’t look scary.

“Have you seen the look you give _anyone_ when they talk to you?” Marco laughed again and sat up straight. Right next to Jean, even sitting he loomed over. “No wonder you haven’t made many friends yet.”

Jean looked angry at him, opening his mouth to retort. Marco gave him a pointed look.

“Don’t get me wrong, Jean. So far, you’re pretty fantastic, but your R.B.F. is very powerful.”

 

* * *

 

_Baseball is one of the lesser high school sports._ Sasha had said.

_Unless Marco Bodt was on your team._

The stands bleachers were filled, packed as if it was the homecoming game. There wasn’t enough seating available, and hordes of groups stood on the side, sitting under trees. As the team exited the locker rooms, the crowd cheered wildly. The other team, adorned in green and brown, stopped chattering amongst themselves, in awe of the cheering.

Jean was in awe, too. He saw Sasha and Connie, in the front just as promised, cheering loudly with the rest of the crowd. He smiled to himself.

“Jesus, Marco,” said one of the other players, Bert, “You really fucking filled the stands.”

Marco smiled broadly, waving at the crowd. “Just wait until the cheerleading squad comes out.”

 

* * *

 

Marco was the starting pitcher.

On the mound, Jean could admire him easily from the second base.

_Baseball players have nice asses_.

Marco stood tall, tossing the ball in the air and catching it with his right hand. He paid attention to the catcher behind the batter, doing short nods or curt head shakes. From the mound and the home base, Marco had an entire conversation with the catcher without having to say a single word.

Marco catches the ball with his hand one last time and positions himself to prepare his pitch.

From the mound, he looks across the green field, giving a million-dollar smile to his whole team, before looking back and winking at Jean. He faces forward once more, smile gone, doing his best glare to the batter. He winds up the pitch, eyes pointed at something Jean can’t see, and releases the ball with superhuman force.

The ball zooms forward, straight into the strike-zone and into the catcher’s gloved hand. The force from the ball visibly shakes the catcher, who loses his balance and falls. The batter next to him seems frozen in fear, as if he hadn’t even _seen_ the ball coming.  

“Strike One!”

From the home base, the catcher throws him another ball, as the crowd gives a low whoop.

A wave of intimidation washed over Jean. Marco—who had just shot the ball like it was a bullet—not only offered him Pepto Bismol but told _him_ that _he_ was a good pitcher.

But if Jean was a good pitcher, then Marco was a machine.

_Jesus,_ Jean thought, _That’s Marco Bodt._

 

* * *

 

Jean was sure sunflower seeds weren’t an _actual_ thing that baseball players chewed on during games. But here he was, in the dugout, watching as the team passed around a one-pound bag of sunflower seeds to grab handfuls of.

The ground was littered with old shells, and as the game wore on, a new layer of spit-shells covered the floor.

Next to him on the bench, Marco took off his cap and took a seat.

Marco, like Adonis himself probably would, smiled humbly at Jean, grabbing some sunflower seeds, like he hadn’t just pitched an entire inning without letting the enemy team even _touch_ the ball.

“So, what’re you doing after the game?” Marco asked. He popped seeds into his mouth and stretched his legs out. “Good luck, Bert!” he called out as Bert went up to bat. He looked back to Jean, waiting for his answer, chewing expectantly on his seeds.

“Going to the diner with my friends.” Jean answered. He looked over at Bert, who was giving a few practice swings with his bat.

Marco nodded thoughtfully and looked to Bert as well. “Hmm,” he spit a few seeds on the ground below him, “There’s going to be a victory party at Bert’s after the game.”

“Victory party? We’re still in the first inning.”

On the other side of Marco someone laughed, “C’mon, we got Marco on our team.”

Marco shook his head and chuckled nervously at that, “Bert and I had a bet that I couldn’t fill the stands. He lost—so we get to have a party after our first game.” He nodded thoughtfully then, “It’s like a big bonding activity.”

Jean couldn’t help but feel uneasy at their confidence.

“I’ll talk to my friends about it.” Jean said.

Here he was, Jean Kirschtein, at his first game with over-confident team members, invited to a party.

Though Jean didn’t look at him, he could see Marco’s million-dollar smile from the corner of his eyes. Marco pats Jean’s thigh twice, sending an electric current up Jean’s spine, as he stood up. At the same time, the bat that Bert was holding gave a loud _crack!_ as Bert took off running to first base, the ball flying far into the outfield.

“Can’t wait to see you there.” Marco put the baseball cap on his head and begins to walk out of the dugout, grabbing a bat, and smiling back at Jean one last time.

_Baseball players._

 

* * *

 

“You _WHAT?”_

Connie was halfway to Denny’s when Sasha screamed.

From the passenger seat, Sasha whips around staring at him, mouth wide open. She was slightly tanner than before, from sitting in bleachers the whole game, and her hair was still in the ponytail she had when the game first started.

“Sasha!” Connie groaned, “Stop screaming while I’m _driving!”_

“Connie go straight to Bert’s house— _now!”_ Sasha instructed, “You got invited to a party by _Marco Bodt.”_

“Sasha they’re way over-cocky.” Jean said. He rolled his eyes at her, “They were already calling it a victory party when we were still in the first inning. Bert hadn’t even hit the ball yet!”

“You guys won.” Connie said, “So what’s the problem?”

Sasha nods. “Yeah, imagine partying with people like that? H-Y-P-E.”

“Fine.” Jean said. “But let’s go back to my place so I can shower first.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Jean learned that Sasha was _the_ party buddy to have. She strolled into Bert’s house confidently, her legs refusing to let anyone stop her, like she was on the baseball team herself.

The place was packed with what seemed to be half the crowd from the bleachers and the baseball team. He spotted his teammates at different places of the large expanse of Bert’s home. The living room was huge, with a Nintendo Wii U plugged in, playing a round of Smash and people all over the couches. In the kitchen, drinks of bottles and cans were everywhere, with an open door leading to the backyard. From where Jean stood, he could see the huge pool, with palm trees along the perimeter, like some sort of fantasy.

“Holy shit,” Sasha breathed out, taking it all in, “Is this heaven?” she floated away to the coolers, pulling out three cans of Four Lokos. She returned to Connie and Jean, handing one to the each of them. “Don’t drink more than one of these,” she instructs.

Jean pops the can open, taking a sip of it. He’s had alcohol before, but underneath the sugar of Four Lokos, it was bearable. He took a drink.

“I wonder where Marco is,” Jean said, looking around. “He said he was looking forward to seeing me here.”

At this, Sasha whipped her head at him, mouth open. “ _Marco Bodt expressed to wanting to see you at a party?”_

“Jeeze,” Connie said, taking a drink from his can, “Is this the same Jean as last year?”

Jean rolled his eyes, “We were talking before the game, so I guess—”

_“Jean why didn’t you say anything earlier!”_ Sasha cooed. She put her hand on his arm. “You need to be having as much fun as possible right now!”

She grabbed his elbow with her free hand and began to drag him outside. Connie trailed behind him, a devilish smile forming on his lips.

“What are we gonna do?” Jean said as Sasha parked him next to a ping pong table. He took another drink from his can and set it down in front of him. “Beer pong?”

“Yeah, me and Connie will set it up!” She said. She grabbed empty cups and ping pong balls from a box under the table and placed it on the top. “Go look for Marco and have him play with us.”

Jean felt a familiar knot of nervousness in his stomach. “I don’t think I can do that.” He said, hand clutching to his stomach.

Sasha looked at Jean, glancing at the arm to his stomach. “You need a shot of tequila.” In an instant, she spun around and zipped to the kitchen, in search of tequila shots.

Connie watched after her retreating figure before looking at Jean. “You good dude?”

Jean opened his mouth to speak, just as Sasha returned with three small plastic cups.

“Now, normally a Four Loko will do ya in for a party,” she says, handing them out, “but right now I think Jean needs some liquid courage to talk to his crush.”

“Shut up, Sasha.” Connie says, “Marco Bodt is attractive, nice, _and_ talented. Who _doesn’t_ have a crush on him.”

Sasha paused and looked at him, then to the can in his hand. She reached out and grabbed it, shaking it lightly to feel for the contents of it. Her jaw dropped and she returned it, “You’re already almost done with it!”

Connie shrugged and grabbed his shot. “To Jean’s first high school party.” He toasts. Sasha and Jean smile and tap the lips of their cups together. Sasha says “clink!” and she taps hers, and the three of them down it.

Jean slaps his cup down, immediately coughing and grimacing at the taste. The Four Loko had treated him so good…

…But now he felt good.

He straightened up, smiling at his friends with the aftertaste of tequila still in his mouth, and took a sip of Four Loko to wash it away. “I’m gonna go look for Marco.” He says.

Jean found Marco in a game room downstairs, playing pool. It was hazy and dimly lit, exactly how Jean thought a pool room would look. Marco sat alone in the room on a stool, next to a table with a bong on it.

And never, in his 15 years of life, would Jean—or anyone—admit to seeing Marco Bodt clear a bong.

But as Jean was descending the final step and entering the room, he caught the last moments of Marco smoking it in and breathing it out. He stood back up, shaking his whole body off like a dog, and picked a cue stick off the table. He was  He turned around to face the pool table when he caught sight of Jean.

Marco smiled his dazzling smile and took a step forward to Jean. “You made it.”

Jean took a glance at the bong on the table behind him and smiled. “I sure did.”

Marco, walking to close the distance between the two smiles sheepishly. “Calms me down.” He picks a cue stick off the wall, “Care to play?”

Jean considered the situation. Alone, in a dark room with Marco Bodt? At the thought, he was absolutely ravenous.

Jean shakes his head, “Actually I was looking for a beer pong buddy.” He leans against the wall behind him, and puts his hands in his pockets. “But I can see you’re real busy here.” He teases.

“Beer pong?” Marco asks. He puts the cue sticks down on the table.

“Yeah,” Jean breathes. “Losing team jumps in the pool.”

 

* * *

 

Sasha was the party buddy to have.

With an undefeated beer pong title under her belt, there was no way she was going to miss see Marco Bodt jump in a pool after she realized what the stakes were. She had annihilated them—making every single shot and clearing out Marco’s and Jean’s cups in one turn—before they had a chance. Sure, they had redemption, but Marco missed that on his first shot.

“Down to your boxers, Bodt.” Sasha said. She sipped on her Four Loko again, instructing the two.

Marco, who was absolutely hammered from losing against Sasha, shrugged, before taking off his shirt.

Jean, who was faintly sure those weren’t the terms, took his off too.

A small crowd began to form around the two, egging them on.

Now maybe it was the tequila shots, or the Four Loko, or maybe even the beer pong, but once Marco and Jean were both down to their underwear, they both sprinted to the pool, cannonballing into the deep end.

Above, the crowd cheered. Underwater, Jean opened his eyes to see Marco smiling at him again. His stomach fluttered.

 

* * *

 

When they came back up, Connie and Sasha, the party buddy to have, had towels ready for the two of them. Marco laughed, whooped, and hollered, high off the energy the crowd was giving him, before grabbing both his and Jean’s clothes to go dry off.

Jean followed behind him, descending back into the game room where Jean had found him. It was warm inside, and behind him Marco pulled a curtain shut in the entryway that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Sasha is _really_ good at beer pong.” Marco says, “She’ll give the football team a run for their money.”

Jean turned around to look at Marco and became instantly transfixed.

Marco was so beautiful to look at. He was toned and tanned and freckled and just look _amazing_. Dripping wet and in nothing but soaked boxers, Marco was a sight to behold. Sure, changing in the locker room was one thing, but _this_ was a whole different level of intensity.  

 Jean didn’t know how obvious he was staring until Marco had chuckled and moved closer to him.

Jean could feel his heart beating harder and faster in his chest.

Jean’s eyes raked up Marco’s abs, up to his face. He leaned against the pool table across from Jean and smiled at him. He then began to dry his chest off, almost making a show of it for Jean.

Jean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Marco smirked at him, refusing to break eye contact. “Got something to say?”

Almost as if he had another shot of tequila, Jean found courage he wouldn’t have before.

“We still play for the same team?” Jean asked.

Marco smiled, standing up. “Yeah.” He crossed the distance to Jean, snaking his hand to the side of Jean’s hip. He leans forward closely, and whispers in Jean’s ear. “But I’m the captain.”


End file.
